Come
by FromThoughtsToInk
Summary: NOTE: This is a continuation of a story already posted. A new serial killer is out in DC, the History Killer. Will the squint squad catch him in time, or will one of them be next.
1. Prologue

**AN: This a continuation of the story Come. I'm not trying to steal anyone's story, it's just that I love the story but it wasn't continued. So I decided to continue it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, FOX does. And I don't really own Come.**

Doctor Jack Stanley Hodgins, PhD. Three well-earned doctorates and an IQ score that would make many scholars jealous.

So much knowledge, so much intelligence, yet here he was, at a complete loss as to what to do. Wandering lost in a bleak darkness of ignorance, trying his hardest to find his way back to precious, familiar daylight.

Sighing to himself, he buried his face in his hands.

The world seemed, in the course of a few mere days, to have turned completely on him and the weight of it seemed to press on his shoulders. His fingers accidentally brushed across the row of stitches in his forehead, causing him to inhale sharply at the pain.

Memories that he'd been trying to dispose of over the past two days flooded back to him in an instant, overwhelming his senses. A blinding flash of light, the sound of creaking metal, the feeling of his entire body exploding in pain, the taste of blood in his mouth, the acrid smell of fire and blood.

And, slowly turning his head, the sight of her beside him. Blood matted her already tangled hair and slowly trickled down one side of her face. And her features, so familiar to his eyes, were arranged somewhere between horror and a peaceful sleep. His breath caught in his chest as his heart froze inside—

The distinctive ring of a telephone snapped him out of his reverie and bought him back to the present. He opened his eyes, banishing the memory, and stared at the telephone sitting mere feet away from him on the coffee table.

It sounded like the ambulance sirens.

He let it ring until the answering machine picked it up.

"Mister… _Doctor_ Hodgins?" The voice echoed through the empty house. "This is Nurse Hitchens from Sibley Memorial Hospital. I know you've been avoiding coming in because you're confused and don't know what to do, but I think you should come, Mister Hodgins. I really do." There was a pause, then softer, the woman added, "I'm sure she would want you to." And she hung up.

Left alone with the silence again, Hodgins swallowed against the lump in his throat.

The nurse (who he'd come into contact with in his own brief stay in the hospital) hadn't been wrong. Quite the contrary: after such a brief encounter with him, she had him figured out perfectly.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, interlocked his fingers, and then rested his chin on his hands.

Yes, part of him felt like he should be spending every moment at Angela's bedside, simply being there with her, hoping for her quick recovery. Yet another part of him felt like he didn't belong there at her bedside, that, considering she was there because of him, he didn't deserve the right to be by her side.

Standing suddenly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked around the back of the couch. He wasn't particularly hungry, but maybe a sandwich could help ease his mind.

But in order to get to the kitchen, he had to pass by the table on which the answering machine sat.

Angry red numbers pulsed across the darkened room at him, notifying him that Nurse Hitchens was not the first but sixth caller to leave a message since he had last checked his messages.

Freezing in his place, Hodgins stared at the machine.

He knew who all of the calls had come from. Every single one of those six calls had come from Sibley Memorial Hospital, and not just from Nurse Hitchens. For the past two days, the doctors at the hospital had been trying to speak with Hodgins.

But Hodgins knew exactly what it was they were going to say, so he hadn't answered a single call.

_I'm sure she would want you to._

The nurse's words echoed through his head and tugged at his heart. He didn't doubt for a moment that what the nurse had said was true. But knowing it was true and doing something about it were worlds different.

Slowly, inadvertently, his eyes traveled to the row of car keys hanging on the wall by the door. There was no rhyme or reason to the placement of the keys on the various hooks, but in his mind each set for each car had its place. One hook, situated three from the end, was empty.

He swallowed again.

And suddenly, as if controlled by something outside of himself, he hurried over and grabbed a set of keys, then bounded out the door and down the steps. He was in the car, driving down the long, winding driveway before he realized what he was doing.

No, no, he assured himself. The mansion was big, empty, and lonely. He was only out for a drive to get away from there for a little while. That was all.

But he knew right away that he was merely feeding himself pointless lies, and he soon wound up at his real destination: Sibley Memorial Hospital. His feet automatically carried him towards the room he already knew she was in.

Walking down the almost empty halls, he soon realized that visiting hours were over. His heart sank at the realization, but his feet continued to defeated carry him up the corridor. It wasn't long before he came to the nurses' station, a short ways from his destination.

A lone nurse stood in the station, and she looked up at him when she heard his footfalls coming down the hall. But instead of ordering him away like he knew she would, she said nothing and a smile drifted to her face.

Confused, Hodgins frowned until he saw the nameplate on her shirt.

Hitchens.

She continued to smile at him as he passed by, but he couldn't find it in himself to return the expression. His face remained straight and stiff as he walked on to his goal. Slowly but steadily, his feet carried him onwards.

Finally, he arrived at her door.

He paused outside and the rush of conflicting thoughts once again bombarded him. Could he really do this? Could he really walk in there and be at her bedside after what he'd done?

He knew the others had been here. Brennan had been here, as had Booth—he'd probably said a prayer over her. Even Zack and Cam had been here, he knew. And, of course, her father had come in to sit at her bedside.

Now here he was, the man who claimed to love her, coming for the very first time to see her. And all he was doing was standing outside her door, trying to decide whether or not he should go on inside.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and slid inside.

He briefly surveyed the room, finding it to be nothing more than an average hospital room. And there she was, lying on the bed.

The blood had been wiped away from her face, her wounds cleaned and bandaged. Her eyes were closed peacefully, and her expression was still, unmoving. Dark hair was splayed across her pillow behind her head, and he thought it made her look like an angel, even now. The heart monitor in the room beeped steadily and the respirator hissed.

Slowly, he crossed the room, eyes flicking to the chart clipped to the foot of her bed.

_Angela Montenegro. Critical condition. Comatose._

He shook his head to clear away a flood of thoughts that came at reading that, and walked around the side of her bed. For a moment, he just stared at her and breathed slowly.

Then he bent down and gently kissed her cheek, brushing back a stray lock of dark hair from her face.

"Hi," he whispered quietly. "Sorry it took me so long to come."

**AN: That is were the original story ended. But my version will continue. I hope you like it! ^-^**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Any skip for the past and the present is parted by a ~. Enjoy!**

_Six Days Earlier 9:37 A. M._

"Sweetie! Come on. A few drinks, some dancing, it'll be so much fun! Please!" Angela yelled, following Brennan across the platform.

"Angela, I told no already. I have to work tonight. These remains aren't going to identify themselves. That is physically impossible," Brennan continued walking, stopping only to check an intern's progress on some remains.

"You work every night. Just once, would you please go out for once," pleaded the artist.

"No! The last time you dragged me to a club, we got high on meth. I could have compromised the remains at the scene."

"That was an accident! If I knew we would get high would have invited Hodgins instead. This is a new club, The Sand Bar, the grand opening. And the ladies get free drinks."

Brennan thought for a moment. If Angela got drunk, again, she might end up in bed with a random stranger. Not that she'll mind.

"Fine. But only to make sure you do not become intoxicated, again. It would be quite illogical to let you go alone." Brennan said.

"Thanks Sweetie!" Excited, Angela hugged her best friend before running off the platform.

Brennan was running around the platform like a madwoman. She used her card to go onto the platform an estimated thirteen times to grab items the new interns may have forgotten, or to find Hodgins to name bugs and slime, or to get Cam to determine cause of death. The new interns seemed to be messing up out of nervousness.

"No," said Brennan. She was about to lose all control, "Attach the femur to the tibia before attaching the fibula. You, start reconstructing the humorous before starting with the rest of the remains." _'Maybe a few drinks with Angela isn't such a bad idea,' _she thought.

Hodgins sat at the edge of her bed. His hand was on top of hers; his thumb gently brushed her hand, not that she could feel it. He breathed in sharply, what was he doing? He did this to her. If he was there on time, maybe… He might never know what would have happened if he made it on time.

Quickly, he released her hand. He ran his hands through his curly hair. _'What have I done?'_

_9:54 A. M._

Booth walked into the lab and was hit by a not-yet familiar sent: decomp.

"Bones! We got a case! Some remains and blood were found at Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial," he called. He looked around for Brennan. He found her looking down on some remains.

"I'll get Zack and Hodgins. We will be with you shortly," she answered, still not looking up from the bones. When she finally looked up, Zack and Hodgins were standing there.

"Heard we got a case," said Hodgins.

"Yes. Please get our stuff into the car, Zack," said Brennan.

_10:12 A. M._

"The remains are in good condition, so is the skull," said Brennan, "Angela should be able to sketch a face."

"Not a lot of insect activity," said Hodgins. "The body hasn't been outside for long. I'll say ten-eleven hours tops."

"Most of the tissue has been removed from the body. Possibly by the killer; I'll know more when we get them to the lab."

"Blood shows that the body has been moved from the original crime scene," said Zack.

"Bones, hurry up and tell me who is that and what killed them."

"Male, African American, approximately thirty-five to forty years old in age. Gun shoot wound in the remaining cheek tissue. It seems to have lodged itself in his neck, but I won't be able to determine cause of death until we take him back to the lab," said Brennan.

"I'll collect blood samples," said Zack.

"Wait. African American man, almost forty, shot in the face. Found at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. This man was killed exactly like King. Someone is trying to send us a message," said Booth.

_'She got too close to the truth.'_ Hodgins thought. _'We got too close, and now she is paying the price.'_

"Angela. You may or may not be able to hear me but listen, I need you. I need you to pull through for me. Please."

_10:14 A. M._

"What do you mean someone is trying to send us a message?" asked Brennan.

"To get to you they need to get they need remains. You are the only forensic anthropologist in the tri-state area. If they want a way to get to you, they did it," reasoned Booth.

"Well, what do they want with me?"

"That's what we are going to find out. And it could not just be you they want, it you be Zack, Cam, Angela, or anyone you work with."

"What do we do?"

"We play it safe."


End file.
